The Weasley to your Malfoy: Dragon Love
by The Lady Arturia
Summary: Draco doesn't understand how Charlie can be so unlike any Weasley he's ever met. There's just something about him that draws Draco to him. Will this weird fixation amount to anything, especially when thrown in the middle of a war and a need to find meaning in life? Charlie/Draco written as a gift fic for Laura. Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa, Mama Lo!


**A/n: This is my Christmas present to the lovely, amazing, brilliant Laura! Merry Christmas, Mama Lo! Keep being awesome! I hope you like this; it's my first attempt at writing Charlie/Draco so forgive me if it's terrible.**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Arty xx**

* * *

 **The Weasley to your Malfoy: Dragon Love**

* * *

After all the stories he'd heard, Draco was more than thrilled to board the Hogwarts Express and begin his much-awaited school life. He couldn't wait to see the spectacular castle for himself and befriend the cream of the crop.

Although the former lived up to expectations, the latter… not so much. Despite a rejected handshake and years of resentment to follow, Draco would be able to laugh about it someday.

* * *

In his second year, he succeeded in his third objective: to make a name for himself. Of course, it served his ego greatly that his nemesis, Harry Potter, the only one to earn greater fame than him at first sight, thought he was the Heir of Slytherin.

It didn't even matter that he wasn't; just as long as everyone else thought he was. It would be some years later when Draco would come to loathe that way of thinking.

* * *

His third year was mostly uneventful—unless you counted the broken nose he earned, courtesy of a particular Know-It-All's uncannily swift right hook. That would teach him to be a little less snooty—or at least a little better at avoiding punches—in the years to come.

* * *

Draco's fourth year was as eventful as his third wasn't. You would think it was due to the Triwizard Tournament and the Dark Lord's alleged resurrection, but it wasn't.

It was due to a certain red-haired hindrance that he had had the bad luck of being caught by while he was attempting to sabotage the second task so Potter would lose.

Charlie Weasley was nothing at all like his snot-nosed, trickster, or stalker siblings. He was everything Draco would never aspire to be yet had no choice but to admire him for being it.

He was an unfathomable existence to Draco, and call it the Ravenclaw part of him, but he needed to know more about this mysterious Weasley that was nothing like anyone Draco had ever known _._ If it weren't for the fact that Charlie was a Weasley, Draco wouldn't have had to stumble into the dragon-keeper's rooms accidentally on purpose, or pretend like he hadn't enjoyed every single one of Charlie's robust and enthusiastic re-enactments of his time in Romania, or say harsh, contemptful words just to save what was left of his pride and dignity.

This would end up being one of the things Draco would come to regret greatly—even after counting becoming a Death Eater and serving a madman.

* * *

Draco chose not to remember his fifth, sixth and seventh years. They were hardly his proudest moments. But even amongst all of those terrible memories, there was one particular one he could still relive years later, like it happened moments ago.

Charlie Weasley, leading an army of witches and wizards, marching towards Hogwarts and taking down Death Eaters in their wake.

With his ginger locks shimmering in the moonlight and the sweat glistening off his brow; the spells he threw hitting their marks like colourful arrows whizzing through the night; he looked like a dragon in battle, fierce and powerful.

It was glorious. And that admission first brought forth shame, then a sense of resignation. It took Draco too long to accept the fact that a Weasley could be so fascinating and pique his interest to such an extent.

But all it took was one look from across a chaotic battlefield for Draco to realise that it was always better late than never.

That was the first time in his life he had put his right foot forward and had been courageous enough to make his own choices. Years later, that moment was what kept him going even in the darkest of times.

Because the light was always somewhere close by; a bright, blinding, crimson fireball that cast away the darkness faster than dawn ever would dusk.

* * *

Right after the war, while others either returned to Hogwarts to complete their schooling or took on work, Draco decided to set off in search for meaning in his life. The more he thought about, the more he realised that every single action of his since the time of his birth had been dictated by someone else. He had always been controlled, and it was only after he became a Death Eater that he understood the true extent of others' power over him.

He was never his own person. He had never been, but he sure as hell intended to change that.

That was how he found himself standing outside the dragon keepers' quarters in Romania, wondering if a right turn could take you to the wrong place.

Then Charlie Weasley stepped out in all his freckle-faced, unkempt-haired glory and said, "Welcome to Romania, the home of dragons! Come on in; I'll show you around!"

And Draco decided that maybe it was a wrong turn, or three, that had led him to the right place.

* * *

It would soon be a year since Draco had come to Romania and Charlie had taken him under his wing to train him in the "fine art of dragon keeping". After nearly losing an arm and having his hair singed every so often, Draco had almost given up.

But then Charlie would run over with some balm or potion to soothe his burns, laughing all the while and telling him what a success he'd be, that Draco decided he rather liked having his efforts be acknowledged and chose to stay on.

Charlie was a person no one could never be on bad terms with. It was impossible to make an enemy out of him—and Draco had tried but failed so often that he had given up. The only time Charlie had ever gotten angry was when Draco hadn't followed instructions and had nearly gotten himself and a dragon killed. Charlie had given him the silent treatment until he was completely healed, and it was the worst two weeks of his life.

Since then, Draco had decided that he preferred to make Charlie laugh than piss him off. Just then, he watched as the redhead guffawed over the tale of Draco's rejected handshake as they cleaned their gear. "You wouldn't make it as a dragon-keeper if you let a silly handshake from a decade ago get you down, mate," Charlie said, slapping Draco on the back.

"I suppose I can laugh about it now, but it was still quite traumatising as a lad, to have someone reject my hand in friendship," Draco said, reaching over to grab another glove. "You never get over that sorta thing."

Charlie snorted. "Says the fellow that just stuck his head into a dragon's mouth to give her back teeth a good scrubbing."

"It would've gotten infected if I'd left it be," Draco retorted, leaning around Charlie to reach for the pail of water. "Pass me the sponge, will you?"

"Oh, the sponge is—" Charlie broke off abruptly, having turned towards Draco and realising how close together their faces were. Draco's breath caught in his throat, his heart leaping to his mouth in surprise, and Charlie's eyes flitted down for a second before he pulled back and held up the sponge. "—over here," he finished with a grin, tossing it on Draco's lap.

He stood up and moved to the far side of the tent where they had lined up the saddles, seeming unfazed by what had just happened. Draco, on the other hand, was still frozen from shock as he sat rooted to the spot, one hand still extended towards the pail.

"Come help me with this, will ya?" Charlie called, and Draco mechanically rose to his feet and made his way over to the other man. "Why're your ears so red?" Charlie asked, eyebrows raised. "And your face is all flushed. You alright, mate?"

"'m perfectly fine," Draco muttered, ducking his head so his now longer hair fell over his eyes. He moved around to the other side and shook himself out of his confused and flustered self. "The strap on this side's worn; I'll go get the sewing kit."

As he walked away, berating himself for being weird, he missed Charlie's lingering gaze follow him out the door.

* * *

"There you are," Charlie said, startling Draco and causing him to drop the spatula he was using to make pancakes. Charlie caught it deftly and replaced it in Draco's palm. "Wow! Pancakes! What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," Draco said, trying to sound nonchalant, but Charlie wasn't fooled.

"Naw, there's definitely a reason," he said, leaning over Draco's shoulder to inhale the sweet scent. "We only make something sweet around here when something special's happening."

"That's true; my arrival here a year ago was special indeed."

"Oh!" Charlie stood back, eyes wide and mouth open. "It's been a year already? Man, time sure flies when you're having fun," he said as he slung an arm around Draco's shoulders.

"Or running for your life from crazy dragons." Draco held up a plateful of pancakes. "Now here. Take this before I change my mind and decide you're not worthy of my A-grade cooking."

Charlie grabbed the plate and started digging in before he even got to the table. "Thif if goof," he mumbled around the food, and Draco scrunched his nose in disgust.

" _Ugh,_ have you not heard of table manners?" he asked, shoving a napkin against Charlie's mouth.

"You missed a spot," Charlie said, grabbing Draco and tugging him forward. He planted a big, wet, pancake-filled kiss on Draco's cheek with a, "Congratulations on surviving a year!"

"You are _disgusting,_ " Draco said, scrambling away and wiping his cheek with the napkin. "Just because you spend all day with animals doesn't mean you behave like one!"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mother."

"I'm not your mother," Draco grumbled, still wiping his cheek as he settled down next to the redhead.

"That's true. Your cooking is hardly good enough—oof!"

Draco had shoved his elbow into Charlie's side, and Charlie recovered in half a second, tackling Draco down.

"Get off me, you oaf!" Draco laughed as he tried to push the larger man off of him, but to no avail.

Charlie leant so close to Draco, their faces were inches apart, and said, "Don't worry; I don't think of you as family."

He got off Draco and stood, holding a hand out. Draco took his hand, stunned by what Charlie had said, wondering what he had meant.

Sure, they weren't family, but they'd spent everyday together since Draco had arrived. And their relationship was friendlier than that of a master and apprentice. While Draco did consider Charlie as his mentor, he had also quickly occupied the rule of a guardian, and hearing those words come out of the man's mouth was still a bit of a shock.

"Why, because I'm a Malfoy?" Draco asked, the sting of what he had said still raw. "Because I was a Death Eater?"

Charlie's gaze was intense when their eyes met. "Is that what you think I meant?"

"What did you mean, then?" Draco came to stand across from Charlie, waiting as the other man finished his pancaked.

"Don't you think if I was prejudiced against you for being either of those things, I wouldn't have taken you in to begin with?"

Draco swallowed, finally asking the question that had been chewing at him for all those months. "Then why did you? Out of pity?"

Charlie shrugged. "Maybe. At least at the beginning. I could see you'd gone through a lot and needed a warm bed and some food. Considering what I do for a living, finding another comrade is never a bad thing."

"That doesn't answer my question." When Charlie turned away and walked to the sink to wash his plate, Draco stormed over to him and grabbed his arm. "Answer the question."

Charlie looked back at him with those same, intense eyes. "You came looking for me, didn't you?"

Draco blinked, surprised. "You knew?"

Charlie snorted. "Word travels fast in these parts. I heard a frail blond boy was looking for me much before you found me. Why else do you think I invited you in so readily?"

"How would I know?" Draco scoffed, shaking his head. "You're incomprehensible."

"I'm a dragon-keeper; it's a necessary trait, lest I intend to get my head bitten off."

"Whatever." Draco started to walk away, but Charlie grabbed his arm this time.

"And don't mistake what I meant about you not being my family. This is what I meant by it." He pulled Draco forward and planted a rough kiss on his mouth, pulling away mere moments later. "Whatever weird fascination you have towards me, I have something similar towards you too," he explained, probably seeing Draco's shock on his face. "Don't think on it too deeply; it doesn't do to dwell on the simpler things in life when you could lose everything you hold dear in an instant."

Everything seemed to make sense to Draco then; why Charlie preferred being alone, why he was so aloof, why he always drew a line when you tried to get closer to him, despite his friendly and easy-to-approach nature. Draco had known Charlie had lost quite a few partners and friends in their line of work, but maybe one or more of those had been more than just someone Charlie worked with?

"Is that why—"

"I just said not to dwell on it," Charlie said, ruffling Draco's hair with a bit too much force. "Go get a haircut. Then go home. Your mum must be worried sick about her vagabond of a son."

"What? You're kicking me out?"

"How long has it been since you started on this search for meaning of yours?" Charlie asked as he pulled on his vest.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "A few years. Why?"

"Have you find what you were searching for?"

Draco opened his mouth, but wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to say he had made progress, but was finding meaning something really that easy to do? And both Draco and Charlie knew that the only reason Draco had even stayed there for so long was because he wasn't ready to return yet.

But maybe what Draco really needed was for someone to tell him to get his act together and stop running away from a past that wasn't even chasing after him anymore.

As though reading his mind, Charlie said, "Instead of running _away,_ wouldn't it make more sense to run _towards_ something? Just a thought."

With that, he was gone. And not just for a minutes or hours, either. There was a search being organised that night for a few days, and Charlie had ordered Draco to remain behind. But maybe what he had intended was for Draco to use the opportunity to leave without having to suffer through the process of saying goodbye.

So he packed a small bag, wrote a thank-you note, cleared up the small dwelling, and left without looking back.

It was only after he had managed to get himself all the way home and was crushed in his mother's teary embrace that all the emotions he had been numb to hit him with the force of a rearing dragon, and for the first time, he wished that he _had_ been crushed by it.

* * *

It was easier to lose track of time when it didn't really hold much meaning. When there wasn't really anything to look forward to, or deadlines to be met, or things to be done.

People came and went, seasons changed, the nights grew longer as the days grew shorter… it was all so monotonous and unchanging. There was no thrill or rush of adrenaline or excitement like there had been when he was keeping dragons. There was no thrill or rush of adrenaline or excitement like there had been when he was in Charlie's company. There was no thrill or rush of adrenaline or excitement… there was nothing. He just felt empty and hollow and lifeless. While those feelings sometimes returned briefly when he reminisced about the year in Romania, they were much too fleeting to hold onto.

All he wanted was to return there—to have an animated conversation with Charlie again—but he could never muster the willpower to go back. What if Charlie didn't want him back? What if it was meant to be a fleeting dream—a one-in-a-lifetime sort of thing? What if going back would destroy it all?

Draco had found the meaning of at least one aspect of his life—something that he probably would never be able to shake off: that he would always be controlled by fear.

He was never his own person. He had never been, and he had finally accepted the fact that he never would be.

The fear would rule over him all his life, crippling him and chaining him down. And he would just have to live with it.

Because the light in the darkness was invisible to someone who was blind.

* * *

"Good morning! What can I get for you?" the girl behind the counter asked brightly, her smiling almost blinding him.

"Pancakes," he muttered, eyeing the shifting picture on the digital menu. "And a tall cup of coffee. Black."

"Sure thing! Are you having it here or taking it away?"

"Having it here."

"Alrighty! Your bill amount is on the screen!" Once Draco had paid for his meal, the girl chirped, "Thank you! Please be seated; we'll bring your pancakes to your table!"

He shuffled to a seat by the front of the café, leaning against the pillar beside him and staring out at the bustling street. The girl was by his side in a while with his pancakes, and he took a moment to inhale the sweet scent.

"Here you go! I hope you enjoy your breakfast!"

"Thank you," he muttered, digging in the moment she was gone.

He thought back to the same day several years ago, practically hearing Charlie's voice from behind him say, "Ooh, pancakes! What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," he muttered to himself, stabbing a piece with his fork.

"Really? Well, I suppose pancakes are a staple diet here, eh?"

Draco snorted. If it wasn't bad enough that he was having a conversation with an imaginary Charlie, he was also changing up the script. Or maybe he was starting to forget. He sat up straight with a frown. No matter how out-of-it he was, he was sure he remembered every detail of that day like it had happened yesterday. And the script had _never_ changed in all the years he had bought himself pancakes for breakfast to commemorate the day he had arrived at and left Romania.

"What, are you ignoring me now? As though up and disappearing without so much as a goodbye wasn't bad enough? Merlin, you sure are a piece of work."

Draco's head snapped to the side, eyes wide, because sitting beside him was none other than the one person whom he had missed every minute of every day for the past several years. He wasn't sure if he was seeing things, simply because he had even gone to the extent of conjuring up a hologram at one of his lowest moments.

As though to prove he was real, Charlie reached up with a curious smile and pinched his cheek. "Well, where's my apology? I'm still waiting."

"How—why—what—"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Is it really _that_ shocking that I happened to see you while I was passing by and decided to demand an overdue apology?"

Draco huffed, still in shock. "You're incorrigible."

Charlie grinned. "Hey, it's a necessary prerequisite—"

"—if you don't want to get your head bitten off, I know," Draco finished, common sense finally returning. "How are you here?"

"I came for Christmas." Charlie shrugged. "Mum went to the extent of feigning a deadly illness to get me to return home for the holidays, so I decided I may as well stay for a while."

"Huh."

"Well?"

"What?"

"My apology?"

"For what?"

Charlie exclaimed in disbelief. "Are you seriously asking me what was wrong about leaving without a word?"

"I left a note."

"Right. Of course. My bad. _Not!"_

Draco couldn't help but laugh, belatedly wondering how long it had been since he had. Charlie held up his hands. "OK. Fine. I'll hold off for a little while longer since clearly you need more time to explain yourself. But, before that…" he gave Draco a once-over. "What's wrong with you? You look even worse than you did when you nearly died."

"I have the answer to your question," Draco said abruptly. Charlie frowned in confusion.

"OK?"

"The one you asked me before I left. If I had found meaning in my life."

"Oh. Er, OK. Well, have you?"

Draco nodded. "I only realised after leaving, which was stupid, and I should've come back, but I was too afraid, and—anyway," he cut himself off, clearing his throat in embarrassment when he saw the amused smile on Charlie's face. "I realised that the time I felt like my life had the most meaning was during that one year in Romania. When I was with you." He shrugged. "I just—I know you don't like getting attached and said not to dwell on it, but—"

"You still dwelled on it?" Charlie asked, his eyes gentle.

Draco scratched his stubbly chin. "Yeah."

"Well, good. Because I dwelled on it so much that I made myself sick."

Draco looked up in surprise. "What?"

"Oh, c'mere." Charlie grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him full on the mouth, pulling away mere moments later. He grinned. "That's what I meant."

"I don't—what do you—"

Charlie shrugged. "S'pose it took you leaving for me to realise it, too. That you're one of the simpler things in life that I would rather dwell upon than not."

"I'm not simple," Draco huffed, and Charlie laughed, and it was what happiness sounded like.

"Come back with me," the redhead said solemnly, his hand still cupping the back of Draco's neck, the warmth of his palm making Draco want to cry from how much he'd yearned to feel it.

"To Romania?"

"Anywhere." Charlie leant forward to kiss him again, but this time he lingered. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of affection and his smile was so gentle that Draco choked up. "I'll go anywhere with you."

"Me too," Draco whispered, wanting to close his eyes to savour the moment but too afraid to open them and find Charlie gone.

"Good. Then let's go."

"Now?" Draco asked as Charlie pulled him to his feet and dragged him out the door.

"Now."

"But—my parents—"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." Charlie kissed Draco again before saying. "Shut up. I'd forgotten you were like this."

"Well, it's too late now," Draco said, taking Charlie's hand. The latter squeezed it with a grin.

"Ah, man. Mum's gonna regret calling me home."

* * *

 **A/n: I really hope you liked it! It was so weird writing Draco with someone other than Harry but if you liked it, then it was worth it. Merry Christmas!**


End file.
